I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you.

2 Timothy 1:5

I expect that sometime this last week, many of you gave thanks for loved ones who have gone before us —family members, church friends and leaders, or ancestors in the faith such as Abraham and Sarah. When I was a pastor, I enjoyed planning worship for the first Sunday in November as a Communion of the Saints. Like the first Sunday in October, World Communion Sunday, we are reminded that communion is more than the holy gathering of the members of one congregation, but a glimpse into the heavenly banquet, where we are connected to children of God around the world and even in heaven, as we all come at the invitation of Christ, who is spiritually present at the table.

I was sharing with a Mexican-American member of Interwoven that one of my favorite worship events happened when I was an intern at Immanuel Presbyterian Church in Koreatown. (Actually there were several memorable worship experiences there, which reminds me how important church internships are in the formation of pastors.) The event I was remembering to Maria was a kind of mash-up of an organ concert/laser light show (quite the sensory experience in that big cathedral-like sanctuary!), and our version of Dia de Muertos, or Day of the Dead.

An elder and I brought items that gave a nod to actual Mexican traditions, interpreted for our multi-racial congregation. As an example, we wanted to allow people to remember their own departed loved ones at our version of an ofrenda. We gave everyone small pieces of paper on which they were to write the names of those loved ones they wanted to remember, which they were able to put on the ofrenda. To set the stage, the elder and I put pictures of our departed loved ones —which meant that this ofrenda had very old photos of our German and Japanese ancestors!

There were fun elements of the evening, as happens with traditional Day of the Dead celebrations, but when people were invited to bring forward the names of their loved ones, I still remember how moved the people were. The pastor suggested that dominant-culture folks like him had lost their customs to remember their loved ones, so it was a gift to be able to honor their ancestors using another’s tradition.

On Saturday, November 18^th, we will have the last Presbytery meeting of 2023. This is always a full meeting, with annual actions such as electing leaders and passing the budget for coming year. In November, we also honor the Indigenous people who have lived in this land for millenia. And, we have our annual necrology, naming all minister members and congregational leaders who have died in the past year. Please let me know if you have leaders so we can include them in worship.

As it happens, there will be some exciting things to look forward to, including consideration of chartering GKI-LA, the Indonesian fellowship worshiping in Covina, and providing support for the renovation of the Eagle Rock Presbyterian Church property to become the eventual home for Interwoven New Worshiping Community. With this plan, we are calling on the legacies of multiple ministries of San Gabriel Presbytery, not only honoring the many years of ministry of the Eagle Rock congregation, but also because Interwoven benefits from the legacy of South Hills Presbyterian

Church, and partial funding for the renovation may come from the recent sale of the property of St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church.

Some people seem to believe that churches as an institution were to continue forever. I often wonder whether some folks want church to be the one place that will not change in a world of constant and unpredictable change. However, this presbytery understands that ministries must change in order to serve our changing neighborhoods. Better than any presbytery I know, San Gabriel has been able to reflect the ethnic diversity of our region, and it is because our congregational leaders know that the churches are entrusted with serving a particular neighborhood, but if they cannot do that effectively, they should contact the presbytery and find a church who can.

When I think of the saints who have gone before me, I do not believe to love them means we cling to who they were and the way they lived out their faith. On the contrary, we should give thanks for the ways they were bold to make difficult decisions in order to meet the challenges of their time and place. Our call is to meet the challenges we face, and to leave a legacy for the next generations of disciples— and this may require sacrifice, as our ancestors made sacrifices for our sake.

As we give thanks for the shoulders we stand on, may we look for those we are to lift up, that they may be able to proclaim the good news of Jesus Christ for future generations. As we have looked to our ancestors to teach us about the life of faith, may we be aware that we are ancestors for others—and what are we nurturing and enabling in them?

May we always be grateful for all the saints, known and unknown, who have helped us be who and where we are. May we be grateful for saints who are still laboring and loving with us, as well as those who have gone on to glory. I am grateful for you who have been faithful leaders of this presbytery for years, and for the ways you welcome folks who are coming new into the presbytery. Together may we continue to grow and change in relevance for our ever-changing community.

See you on the 18^th!

Peace,

Wendy

Awake, my soul!
Awake, O harp and lyre!
I will awake the dawn.

I will give thanks to you, O Lord, among the peoples;
I will sing praises to you among the nations.

For your steadfast love is as high as the heavens;
your faithfulness extends to the clouds.

Be exalted, O God, above the heavens.
Let your glory be over all the earth.                        

Psalm 57:8-11

This week is All Saints Day. This holy day has led to the creation of wildly diverse cultural variations, from child trick or treaters, to the West Hollywood Carnaval, to Dia de Muertos, to the Communion of the Saints . . . . Today, I should be giving thanks for the saints who came before us. And if you want to take this reflection as an excuse to spend some time giving thanks for the saints in your life, go for it.

Though All Saints Day is a very important time for me—as I have often said, we Japanese love our dead people—for some reason, these days I have been more aware of the importance of art in our faith and our lives.

This last Saturday was the memorial for Dee Kelley at Claremont Presbyterian. Since Pentecost, Claremont’s sanctuary has been graced with an art installation of doves flying out from the cross, a gift of Claremont’s engineer/artist, John Watts. John, by the way, was the person who put many hours helping us to hold our September Presbytery meeting as a hybrid meeting on short notice. Thanks, John! Anyway, the first installation was in 2019, and then COVID. But the doves returned in 2023, with more color around the cross, and the doves now take a slight turn around the sanctuary.

I’ve always loved this, but as I walked into the sanctuary on Saturday, my heart was lightened at the thought of Dee flying like these doves, free of the limitations of the mortal plane. I saw Deidra Goulding gazing up at the doves, as this was the first time she had seen the Claremont sanctuary.

Deidra has created some beautiful and meaningful art installations herself, so I imagine she has a special appreciation for this artwork and what it brings to the experience of worship.

The service included the hymn “Here I Am, Lord” by Dan Schutte. This is a favorite at every seminary, and I still have a hard time singing the hymn, as I am overwhelmed by the music and images of God loving this world, and calling us to join in God’s holy mission. Dee had made a special request that the postlude be Charles-Marie Widor’s Toccata from his 5^th Symphony for Organ, that most glorious piece of organ virtuosity. Listening to the organ, looking up at the doves and the stained glass, I thought how all this beauty, visual and aural, helps people like Dee and myself feel more deeply the glory of God.

Art can transcend words, or logic, or rules, so art can reflect the divine mysteries of God in ways that words cannot. Art can transcend despair, and has offered a death-shattering ray of hope in places of tragedy. And art can transcend the limits of social standing; I have known people without advanced degrees or even secure housing who are able to express themselves, their hope, their faith, through art.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the need to express ourselves through art. I think it’s healing to be able to process what’s been going on in our lives and in the world these last few years—or any time. We need to be able to receive the power of art, but we also can create, and in doing so, we taste the power that God offers to us, the power of creativity.

Of course, art takes many forms, and it communicates differently for different people. Some of the controversies in the church come when we try to control people’s creativity as they attempt to share their experience of God, especially through music. But some breakthroughs can come through art as well, as people can experience the unique grace of God through a story well told, a poem piercing the fog of the mundane, a painting that hints at the glory of God’s realm.

I’ve heard that when school district budgets face constraints, the art curriculum suffers. I was comparing notes with a younger person who went to the same high school I did, and I was saddened to hear how many art and music classes I took are no longer offered. Too often, our scarcity mindset labels art a luxury, and so we put artistic expression aside when times are tough. During COVID, we called on our creative powers to figure out how to do church together, remotely. But perhaps it’s time to see if we can nurture our creative urges with a little more freedom.

As I write this, I feel like I’m not being very creative or artistic in the way I am arguing for the importance of art. I think this is my concern—feeling a hunger for creativity, but not yet finding the channel for that creativity. I hope that you are feeling the desire to create, and that we can offer opportunities for our folks to create as a way of exercising the power that God gives us, and to offer hope to a world in danger of losing our imagination of what is possible.

May we find art—and opportunities to create—so that we may open our eyes to God’s beauty, open our hearts to God’s love, and open our souls to God’s life-giving power of creation. May it be so.

Peace,

Wendy

We give thanks to you, O God;
we give thanks; your name is near.
People tell of your wondrous deeds.

At the set time that I appoint,
I will judge with equity.
When the earth totters, with all its inhabitants,
it is I who keep its pillars steady.                              

Psalm 75:1-3

From week to week, the state of the world seems to be getting worse. The war in Ukraine continues, though it has been pushed out of the news by the war in Israel-Palestine. As much as we Americans want to help, we are hamstrung by the inability of our elected representatives to agree on a leader to allow Congress to act. I am embarrassed by the comfort and peace I experience in my life, as I try to imagine what it feels like to be trapped in a small piece of land like Gaza, with millions of people trapped without food, water, or power, but with bombs raining down on them relentlessly.

How do people survive through times when hope is nowhere to be found? People of faith—especially those rooted in the Jewish faith—have woven into the fabric of their being the ability, even the habit, of telling stories. More than anything, we tell the stories of God’s grace, God’s love, God’s great power to save, even from the most dire of circumstances. Throughout the Hebrew Bible, there are calls to tell the story of the ways God delivered the Hebrew slaves escaping Egypt, and other occasions of God’s mercy. In fact, many times God begins communicating to the Israelites by reminding them of their deliverance. As Jesus calls disciples to do his mission, one of the most powerful tools they use is to tell the story of Jesus’ healing power and love, and the miracle of Christ’s resurrection. Our reading of Scripture, and our offering of our own testimony, are ways we regularly tell the story of God’s story of constant care for the human condition.

As I mentioned, I sometimes feel ashamed for the ways God has blessed me. In fact, it was an issue as I began to prepare for ministry, because I could not understand why I was given so much. It seems insensitive to speak of the blessings some of us enjoy, especially when others are hurting. “Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15) And it is true that we must not flaunt our privilege—and most critically, we cannot act as if we have earned the privilege, because whatever we have, is through the grace and plan of God.

But I have learned that sometimes, people in pain need to be reminded that there will be better times, that God will come through, that there will be life, even out of the worst of circumstances. Each of us is part of God’s story of humanity, and each of us has stories to share. Sometimes, when there is nothing else, and sometimes, even when we have plenty of material wealth but little meaning, we need to hear God’s story anew in the lives of our friends, neighbors, and our saints and ancestors who came before us. And if we need to hear from others, we need to tell our story as well—sometimes even to ourselves, to remind us that God is alive, and blessing us with every day of our lives.

Holocaust survivor and human rights activist Elie Wiesel prefaced his novel, The Gates of the Forest, with this Hasidic parable:

When the great Rabbi Israel Baal Shem-Tov saw misfortune threatening the Jews it was his custom to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate. There he would light a fire, say a special prayer, and the miracle would be accomplished and the misfortune averted.

Later, when his disciple, the celebrated Magid of Mezritch, had occasion, for the same reason, to intercede with heaven, he would go to the same place in the forest and say: “Master of the Universe, listen! I do not know how to light the fire, but I am still able to say the prayer,” and again the miracle would be accomplished.

Still later, Rabbi Moshe-Leib of Sasov, in order to save his people once more, would go into the forest and say: “I do not know how to light the fire, I do not know the prayer, but I know the place and this must be sufficient.” It was sufficient and the miracle was accomplished.

Then it fell to Rabbi Israel of Rizhyn to overcome misfortune. Sitting in his armchair, his head in his hands, he spoke to God: “I am unable to light the fire and I do not know the prayer; I cannot even find the place in the forest. All I can do is to tell the story, and this must be sufficient.” And it was sufficient.

God made man because he loves stories.

In the face of despair, may we be brave to stand up and tell our stories of God’s greatness—to ourselves, to each other, to a hurting world.

Peace,

Wendy

God said to Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry about the bush?”
And he said, “Yes, angry enough to die.”

Jonah 4:9

War is upon us. Atrocities beyond a healthy person’s imagination have been carried out in acts of rage that are all the more horrible for the planning behind the attacks. And perhaps more than the war in Ukraine, the war in Gaza has connections with multiple nations, impacts throughout the Jewish and Palestinian diaspora, and roots from before Biblical times. I drove by the Pasadena Jewish Temple this weekend, and was sickened to see a police car on call in the parking lot—such is the reality of persistent, violent, monstrous, anti-Semitic hate. And yet, this last week has seen even more Palestinians killed than Israelis. It seems that no matter what happens in this land, Palestinians suffer.

I did not write about the war last week because it was so early, and I didn’t know what to say. I cannot ignore the war, but I still do not know what to say. The complexity of the hostility in this land that God chose for God’s own people is too great for me to comment.

Some of you may remember that I went to Jerusalem this last January. That trip left an indelible mark on me. Though I spoke with many about the conflict there, I never could have anticipated the speed with which innocents are killed and displaced, and the horrors reported by victims and families of victims. Every day shows how complicated the situation is, how deep are the roots of hatred and vengeance. As the old saying goes, violence begets violence. And vengeance seems to be the Pavlovian response to the “other” in the Middle East. I thought of the Jonah story referenced above, because the actual Bible text is not about a prophet fleeing in fear and landing in the belly of a Disneyland-like whale. Jonah fled because he so hated the people of Nineveh (now under today’s Mosul in Iraq) that he did not want to warn them of God’s wrath, thinking that they might repent, and God would be merciful. As he said to God, “That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.” And that made him angry—and, as he later stated about losing the shade bush God offered him, he was angry enough to die. Isn’t that a perfect illustration of the poisonous nature of vengeance—Jonah’s anger did not succeed in hurting the people of Nineveh, but it might kill him.

I have been shocked at the worldwide response. While I can feel for the frustration of those who have yearned for justice for Palestinians, the seemingly celebratory response to the violence is stunning. A Presbyterian pastor said “It was a shock, but not unexpected. They (Israel) had to know it would come to this.” While I have some understanding of the institutionalized injustices that Palestinian are subjected to, I cannot point to any one issue that would justify the atrocities of a week ago. So, rather than trying to explain things that are far beyond my understanding, I share a few comments from others.

A Palestinian activist who works with Jews, Christians, and Muslims for the Alliance for Middle East Peace (ALLMEP), an NGO (non-governmental organization) that funds grassroots efforts for peace in Israel and Palestine, desperately asked for prayers—“for our humanity to lead us towards the light.”

Because ALLMEP is a coalition of organizations, it shared statements from some of its members. The Abraham Initiatives, which strives to fulfill the promise of equal social and political rights for Israel’s Jewish and Arab citizens, wrote, “Israel and Gaza are going through very difficult times . . . . We must all remember that the day after the war we will remain Jews and Arabs here, in the neighborhood and in close proximity. We will continue to live here together, we have the duty and responsibility to preserve what is there.”

The first member organization mentioned by ALLMEP is the Bereaved Families Forum, also known as The Parents Circle Families Forum. They are Palestinians and Israelis who have lost loved ones from the violence in the area. They go together to speak for peace in the community and in schools, showing in their words and their very presence together that the violence is real, but so is the ability to live in peace together, sadly as they realize they have grief in common. And now, they are painfully aware that their numbers will increase with the thousands of Israelis and Palestinians who have perished this last week, and who will die in the weeks to come.

The Bereaved Families Forum remembers Memorial Day, a patriotic holiday commemorating soldiers who died in the struggle to establish the state of Israel, by holding an evening remembering beloved people—Israeli and Palestinian, military and civilian—who died in the continuing violence in the area. At the 2022 commemoration, a poem was shared. Written by Yehuda Amichai, considered by some as the greatest Israeli poet, the poem is called “The Place Where We Are Right”:

From the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow
In the spring.

The place where we are right
Is hard and trampled
Like a yard.

But doubts and loves
Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plow.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
Where the ruined
House once stood. 

At the time, I didn’t understand the inclusion of the poem. But as I continue to be dumbfounded by the persistence of hate, especially in and around God’s chosen people, I begin to see how the pain in the Middle East cannot be eliminated by everyone who is convinced that they are right. In fact, I think too much of the pain in our church, at least in the USA, stems from our obsession with being right.

Perhaps what we need is the humility that comes with doubt, or with love, or with grief, or with repeated losses and violence—or with our awareness of our need for God’s grace. Perhaps that humility can loosen up the soil of a hardened past. And with that humility, that spirit of confession, God can sow the seeds of peace in all of us. Let us hope so.

Praying,

Wendy

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
    I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
    your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me.

Psalm 23:4

It seems like last Monday was a long time ago. With the shocking explosion of violence in Gaza this weekend, it has been a very long and painful week. We are again bewildered with the intransigence of revenge and violence in God’s chosen land, and we can only pray that God’s power for peace overwhelms the human attachment to hatred.

Last week started with a sad email from Karen Sapio, letting me know that Dee Kelley, long-time active ruling elder of Claremont Presbyterian Church and dedicated leader of this presbytery, passed away on Sunday night. Her daughter thought that Dee had Presbytery meetings on her calendar and asked that Karen let us know. Dee was so active that in fact she was expected at two meetings last week; that’s how unexpected the heart attack was. Please pray for Dee’s family, for her Claremont family, and for all who loved and appreciated her.

Dee’s memorial service is scheduled for Saturday, October 28, 1 pm, at Claremont Presbyterian.

When I think of Dee, I am thankful for the feedback she would give me. She served in different ways, but she felt most called to the Administration and Finance Committee. Lately we have been talking quite a bit about property, and she’s been around long enough that she knew all the properties we were talking about, and the congregations that were housed there. Sometimes there would be need for repair, which takes some capital, and Dee was the one who regularly gave a critical eye to the investments we were making. But while she would pose questions and critique some recommendations, she always made clear that her priority was the care of the congregations and the mission of the presbytery. And while she was one of the people who challenged me most, she also showed appreciation for things I did that helped her. At the last meeting she attended, as we were talking about our recent cash crunch and the need for someone to be intentional about raising funds for the presbytery, she showed care for me by saying “that can’t be Wendy; we’re already asking too much of her.”

Often when I talk about the Presbyterian Church to folks who are new to our tradition, I say we’re all about accountability. Everyone is accountable to someone. I remember in another presbytery, we denied the request of someone to be ordained to a ministry with an unaffiliated mission agency in Europe because we could not find an accountability body for him that he would accept. The PC(USA) polity ensures that everyone is accountable to others, and if people are not being held accountable, it’s because someone is not doing their job. This can happen when a session does not step up to partner and guide the pastor, or for presbytery leaders to question and warn me if I’m missing something. It’s not that I like being told to do my homework, but I know there is much I miss or don’t know. I appreciate that Dee questioned me, but also showed care and appreciation and faith with the questioning.

One of our newer pastors reflected that he appreciates that the PC(USA) does have an accountability structure, but also does the work. He has seen non-denominational churches that do things but without proper accountability, or rigid institutions that follow rules but hoard resources or fail to act out of fear of making a mistake. As I’ve mentioned, we are becoming a place of hope and healing for people who have become disillusioned with the churches that brand themselves evangelical, and one of the things they appreciate the most is the accountability that prevents individual pastors or church leaders from abusing their power or exerting condemning policies in the name of God.

Indeed, we can act because we have the confidence that others are reviewing what we do from different perspectives, and as we keep our eyes and ears open for the guidance and correction of God, we are reminded that God is indeed watching over us. As in that least favorite verse in the 23^rd Psalm, we are comforted by the protection against harm, and the boundaries of guidance, that God’s rod and staff represent. God protects us from being hurt, but also keeps us from hurting ourselves or others. (This would be an obvious place to promote the boundary training that all church leaders and people working with children and vulnerable adults are required to take every three years —so be it. There is self-guided training, and while the October training held by the Synod is full, they will schedule another in early 2024.)

One of the most common themes in the Bible is God attempting to call us back to God’s righteousness —and our stubborn desire to hold to our own faulty wisdom. Our world shows how our failure to heed God’s call continues to burden the human condition. In the PC(USA), and specifically in San Gabriel Presbytery, we seek to be faithful to God’s call, to submit to the authority of the larger church and the wisdom of our group discernment to provide guardrails against abuse, and we exercise the freedom to respond creatively to the challenges and opportunities of our world today. God’s go-to form of accountability is the shared discernment of the body—as I say, it’s why we’re always in meetings, because we always like to make decisions as a group, knowing that one person never has all the wisdom. So let us contribute the wisdom God gave each of us to the ministry of our congregations and presbytery, and let us offer that wisdom with compassion, faithfulness, and humility.

Thank God for giving each of us a part of Christ’s mission for San Gabriel Valley. Let us give our part, and let us appreciate the contributions of others. And let us pray without ceasing that we may be surprised by peace in a land shocked by violence.

Grateful for this Presbytery,

Wendy